


Lightning Never Strikes Twice

by ganjachan



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Butts, Condoms, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Sappy Ending, Sweet, Sweet John, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganjachan/pseuds/ganjachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is jealous of John's ex-girlfriend. </p><p>Takes place somewhere before Sherlock's death - I see it happening in season 2. </p><p>Written for the Come At Once challenge in less than 24h, hence un-beta-ed, re-read only by me, and truly truly sappy. Includes sex, but this is quite obvious. Also, might not go too well with the canon, if you squint.</p><p>I'm open to suggestions, comments and constructive criticism! (especially language-related ones, as I'm not a native speaker of English and this was written after quite a long break)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning Never Strikes Twice

Mike and his sister Sally burst out laughing at John's joke. Sherlock only smiled politely. It was such a good idea to warn Sherlock beforehand that if he spoiled their brunch with Mike and Sally, John would be very, very angry and would probably refuse to have sex for a day or two.

Actually, John was quite astonished at how well Sherlock was doing. The detective was actually _enthusiastic_ about meeting Sally. He was _charming_ , _chivalrous_ and _kind –_ three adjectives John would never think of when trying to describe Sherlock. If John hadn't known that Sherlock was completely uninterested in romantic pursuits (with John being the lucky exception), he would think Sherlock was trying to seduce Sally.

It was, nevertheless, a pleasant change to Sherlock's usual anti-social tendencies and, at the same time, an extremely awkward situation. John knew Sherlock was trying to achieve something, but he had no idea what it was and could only hope it didn't have anything to do with him.

The strange behaviour couldn't possibly be related to the fact that John and Sally had been going out and split up about a year before John went to Afghanistan. Sally went to Paris to continue her studies and came back only recently, hence Mike's invitation for the brunch. Mike never knew about John and Sally's relationship; poor oblivious guy, he thought they were only friends that whole time...

Of course, John hadn't told Sherlock about his relationship with Sally either; there was no need for him to know. And since there was no evidence of that period of John's life, no e-mails to Sally of from her, no photos, no love letters, one could say that it really had never happened. Maybe sometimes Harry would be a bitch and ask John a random question or two about Sally, which would piss John off. But otherwise, it wasn't even such an important period. The relationship lasted just a month and there was no future ahead of them...

Well, okay, John had been deadly serious about it and when Sally dumped him, he thought he would cry his eyes out for half a year, which was why Harry teased him about it every now and then. Looking at it now, he guessed he was so upset because he missed the amazing sex, mostly. They had tried all the possible places: Sally's car, a lift, the sea (cold as fuck), a corn field, a changing room at a pool... he liked these adventures so much that he wanted to marry Sally at one point. He even had the ring ready. Ha, ha, puppy lo-

Wait. Wait, wait. Oh, God. No. The ring. And Sherlock rummaging through John's things...

The ring was the only reminder of John's relationship with Sally that he didn't throw away, although it was by pure accident. When he went to Afghanistan, he left it with Harry along with a bunch of his other things. It was hidden in an old coat so well that Harry never found it, and, without being aware of its existence, gave it back to John when he came back to England. He kept the ring on the bottom of his sock drawer in Santa Claus socks and thought that maybe it would come of use at some point.

The point, obviously, never came. Luckily, he hadn't managed to order an engraving of his and Sally's names and the engagement date, but knowing Sherlock...

“What is it, John?” Mike asked and John realized he had been holding his dessert spoon halfway between his crème brulée and his mouth for the last two minutes or so.

“No, no, it's nothing, just my stomach being weird,” John said, managing a smile. “You were saying?”

“Oh, I just started telling the story of how I and Pierre met in Paris,” Sally said with a happy face.

“Pierre is Sally's fiancé,” Mike added in mock-whisper. Sally smacked him on the shoulder.

“No, he's not! Not yet!” she chirped, red in the face. She frowned at Mike without actually meaning it. “Although it is true that I've matured a bit since we last met. I think it's time to settle... You know, the biological clock is ticking and all. I think I'm getting too old for all the shenanigans...” she raised her eyebrows at John at the last word and John smiled back at her. He heard Sherlock's breath hitch almost inaudibly. So that was it. Sherlock was jealous.

John racked his brain to find a safer topic, but Sherlock saved him, saying with a perfectly polite smile, “So, have you already found a job here, in London?”

 

*******

 

“You're jealous,” John said the second he closed the door to their flat.

“Yes, and I'm dying of it,” Sherlock whined and fell onto the couch with his hand against his heart. “I need three days without people now or I will suffer from severe trauma. How could you possibly fuck such a stupid chick? I thought you were more into brains. I feel offended, John.”

“It was a long time ago,” John said, shrugging. He went to the kitchen to make some tea but didn't stop talking. “Is that why you behaved so nice? Because you wanted to deduce the shit out of my ex-girlfriend? You can drop it and stop wasting your time, it's really ancient history and it would end sooner or later anyway. There's absolutely nothing to be jealous about.”

Sherlock didn't give up. He followed John to the kitchen and leaned casually against the counter. “So, how was the sex?”

“Now you're just being nasty. Stop behaving like a child,” John said patiently, pouring water into the kettle.

“Did you learn all the sex tricks you use on me with her?”

“She was a woman, how could I possibly-”

“I can tell she was into sex toys and light bondage. Would you like me to tie you to my armchair and fuck you so hard that you cried for mercy, John?”

John almost dropped the full kettle when Sherlock's voice became hoarser with every word. The image of Sherlock doing whatever he wanted to John tied tight to his armchair, probably also blindfolded, was very appealing to his cock...

He stopped the thought and took a deep breath to prevent himself from yelling at Sherlock.

“Sherlock, this isn't going anywhere. Either you stop throwing a tantrum or I will show you that lightning never strikes twice.”

“Actually, ligh-”

“What I meant is that I'll show you that there is no fucking possibility of me falling in love with Sally again or even wanting to fuck her, because the only person I love and want to fuck right now is you.”

“Show me then,” Sherlock said in a hoarse voice, his eyes dark.

That was too much. John abandoned the kettle on the counter and buried his hands in Sherlock's hair, dragging his head down for a fierce kiss. Their tongues danced against one another and they fumbled with each other's trousers and pants until their cocks were free. John's was already so sensitive that when Sherlock's touched it, it pulsed in his hand and leaked a glob of pre-come.

“Condoms? Lube?” John gasped, bucking his hips and rubbing his cock against Sherlock's palm.

Sherlock fell to his knees and immediately buried John's cock in his mouth. John bit back a cry of pleasure and grasped the nearest counter for support. Sherlock fumbled in his trousers that were already on the ground and found the much-needed condom and a small packet of lube. He let go of John's cock and put the condom on it.

“Are you always carrying them around?” John laughed as Sherlock shed his pants and lay on the floor on his back, exposing himself to John.

“I'm always prepared,” the detective whispered and dragged John's head down for a lustful kiss.

John ripped the lube packet open and poured the jelly over his fingers, never breaking the kiss.

“Fuck, make it quick,” Sherlock grunted against John's lips. John immediately inserted one finger into the tight heat of Sherlock's arse, earning a stifled moan. When he felt the muscles loosen up, he added another finger and then another, fucking and stretching Sherlock gently with them. The younger man was panting and sighing loudly against John's ear, and John was leaving a trail of kisses on a tight tendon on the side of Sherlock's neck, inhaling the intoxicating smell of Sherlock's sweat mixed with his cologne.

“Now,” Sherlock whined, and John didn't need him to repeat it. He poured the last few drops of lube onto his waiting cock, which twitched at the cold, and pressed it against Sherlock's entrance.

It was a bit tight, to be honest, but the detective wrapped his long legs around John's hips and whispered, “God, John, I can't wait any more!”, and it was enough – in one movement, John pushed deep until the base of his cock pressed against Sherlock's stretched hole and Sherlock's mouth fell open for a cry that never came.

They kissed, both panting and eager for more. John adjusted his position and started fucking Sherlock, first gently, then harder, and soon so hard that his balls were slamming against Sherlock's arse-cheeks every time.

“Does it feel good?” he grunted, holding onto Sherlock's sweaty hip with one hand so that he wouldn't slide away from him on the kitchen floor. Sherlock let out a string of unintelligible moans, which meant he was just as close as John.

John then changed the position so that one of Sherlock's legs was on his shoulder and he was fucking him sideways. Sherlock let out a deep moan at the change, and John looked at him, all dishevelled and out of control, his shirt all crumpled and dusty, and he thought he would explode.

His movements became more and more erratic, and when Sherlock took hold of his own cock and started pumping it hard in time with John's thrusts, John couldn't take it anymore and slammed into Sherlock one last time, crying out in pleasure and coming so hard he never even thought it possible. Sherlock bucked his hips repeatedly against his pulsating cock and came as well, biting onto his own hand to stifle the cry and shooting strings of semen onto John's still clothed stomach.

They collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily and gasping for breath.

“Still jealous?” John asked, stroking Sherlock's sweaty chin lightly.

Sherlock hesitated. “A bit,” he said, turning to place a kiss on John's forehead. He grabbed his boxer shorts and started wiping the semen from John's stomach. It was no use; even washing the shirt wouldn't probably help much.

“Just so you know, we never had sex on the kitchen floor, me and Sally,” John said and pinched Sherlock's nipple through his shirt. The detective smirked.

“Does it mean I'm special?” he asked.

“Oh, damn yes, you are fucking special,” John said with a laugh. Sherlock frowned at him and it made him laugh even more. “I'm just kidding, you idiot,” John said softly, stroking Sherlock's hair. “I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in my life, and I mean it. You know that.”

Sherlock's eyes widened. He dropped the boxer shorts and turned away from John. “I'm hungry,” he said in a tight voice that he tried to make casual-sounding, but failed miserably. It was endearing every single time it happened to Sherlock, and John knew he was the only person who could move Sherlock in that way and not get punched in the face.

Sherlock pulled his trousers up hastily without even bothering to find any clean underpants. His shirt was all crumpled and had a drop of semen in one place, but Sherlock didn't care.

Soon John heard the flat door slam shut. One would think Sherlock was angry with John, but John knew he was just frustrated with emotions he didn't fully control or even understand. He would calm down and be back in half an hour.

John collected the dirty, crumpled clothes from the floor. He placed the sodden boxer shorts and his shirt in the sink to soak and the rest in the laundry basket. Then, he took a quick but pleasant hot shower, using his favourite vanilla-scented soap that Sherlock liked so much he bought him a years' supply as a Christmas present last year.

He put on his dressing gown and went upstairs to his bedroom that he used only rarely nowadays, spending most of the nights in Sherlock's bed. He opened the sock drawer and rummaged in it until he found the horrible Santa Claus socks that he never wore and that served as a hiding place for the unused engagement ring. He extracted the thin band of silver and smiled at it. The idea he had was totally crazy and he would probably get scolded so much that he won't talk to Sherlock for a week.

 

********

 

“Chicken curry and beer,” Sherlock stated upon entering.

John was waiting for him at the door, holding up the silver ring.

Sherlock looked at the ring, then at John, then at the ring again.

“The institution of marriage-”

“I'm not asking you to marry me,” John said, smirking and turning the ring between his fingers. “It's just an ordinary ring, look. You can take it, if it's so upsetting to you that I have it.”

“You know I don't wear jewellery,” Sherlock said, placing the grocery bag on the table and making an attempt to flee to the kitchen.

“Take it,” John said, taking a hold of Sherlock's hand. “It means nothing to me, unless you want to give it a meaning. You can even throw it away, if it will make you happy.”

Sherlock clenched and unclenched his fists. Then he snatched the ring from John and put it in the inner pocket of his coat.

He tried his best to hide it, but John noticed the way the corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards.

“By the way,” Sherlock said, shrugging the coat off, “the assumption that lightning never strikes the same place twice is utterly false. High places get struck repeatedly, some even multiple times during one storm. Take, for ins-”

John pulled Sherlock down onto the coach. “Just shut up or it will strike the top of your head, you tall bastard.”


End file.
